Rising of an Illiterate Dark Mage
by rasetsuyukino
Summary: Cultures were odd things, especially in this new world. They summoned 'heroes', 'devils'- whatever they were called in the respective nation. The west of this world told a different story inscribed throughout the ages, a battle of 'good' and 'evil'. It was never meant to be brought to life. Just a warning- I like short chapters. This is an OC- insert fic.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

Hatred.

She strongly disliked the word, however it was the closest word she had in her small mind to describe her feelings towards her situation.

A normal girl going to a normal, if large, high school with normal, if advanced, classes. To her this was the norm- _we all did it_ \- and to lose the sense of normalcy was certainly doing wonders for her perfectly stable mental outlook. She missed the constant stress- _accompanied by the familiar nausea and shaking hands_ , the hours spent for single moment occasions- _"I can't I have band, I have to study"_ , and the thoughts of her now lost future- _I always used to break down at the thought of my surely imminent failure_. All her problems were first world priorities and she ha- strongly disliked her own selfishness for bemoaning her situation- both then and now.

She, herself, did not struggle. She was average, in her eyes, for her time. So her single mother had to work multiple jobs to support their family? They were still middle class and living in an expensive area. Looking back she realizes how much she _hates_ herself for not _being_ sooner.

But she could not dwell on it any longer, for there were people here in this horrible yet so, so wonderful world that needed her. . . She may not continue to live for herself- _still such a liar, so prideful_ \- but her loyalty- _ever-present cowardice regarding her demise and the hope that maybe, just maybe I can ret_ \- would allow her to carry on.


	2. Chapter One

Rain fell down from the sky as a figure watched from under an overhang of a large concrete building. Their eyes were gazing upon a field, once filled with scribbles of chalk in seemingly haphazard motions. Hours of work, wasted. But the figure- a young girl on the cusp of adulthood- didn't feel anger. She hated what she had made, and it was almost a relief to see it all washed away. The only regret the hooded figure had was their absolute boredom now that she could not obsess over mindless unsubstantial circles. Frustration at the pure apathy of her situation. Waiting. And Waiting. And Waiting some more for a mechanical carriage to pick her up and take her away from boredom.

But nothing. Only nothing.

Why not just go? She could prove her independence, her courage. For if one could not face a little rain then how could they possibly survive later in life? So she went. The mouse like girl flinched as rain hit her glasses. She continued to walk as she nervously wiped at the droplets. Unfortunately for her, while she was wiping at the wet glass she stepped in a puddle.

If this was any normal puddle she would have kept going. If this was the shallow mass of water that little kids kicked brightly colored rain boots through, then the girl would have arrived at her destination. She would have quickly ran up uneven stone steps, fished out her key from her backpack, and unlocked the door whilst shivering. Greeted by merciful, warm silence; broken by the worried shout of her mother as the rain died and a rainbow sprouted.

Sadly, in another dimension a misinformed king called for heroes.

And thus when she stepped in the puddle. She _sank_ as she _screamed_.


	3. Chapter Two

The girl fell with a loud thump in the middle of a dais. She was the only one on the ground of what looked to be a medieval castle straight out of . . . compto- a story book. Definitely a story book. It was dark out and no one seemed to be around however there was a vacant throne at the precipice of a small stairway.

It was all needlessly grand and exuberant. She couldn't help but feel- underneath the mass of confusion and panic- sick with jealousy that one could _afford_ this. Embroidered silk tapestries hung from the painted ceiling. She observed the painting with fervor in an attempt to find _where the hell_ she fell from. Nothing; no hole, no rip, no wound. The absurd painting of what appeared to be three misty figures possessing large weapons had no abrasions to be seen. In fact, it seemed to be in almost perfect condition.

It was insulting to the very idea of logic. She must be missing something. She needed to somehow find a light switch or lamp to see if she was missing something _. What if I'm stuck here? What if something kills me? Kidnapped me to kill me? Oh no. Oh n- Stop. Calm. I can't do this. Calm. Passive_. The girl began to search alongside the stone walls of the large throne room for a better source of light. She found nothing. Well nothing usable, she had knocked over an archaic candelabra in her quest for technology- but without a match is was useless. Well . . . she could maybe hit someone with it?

As she reached for the candelabra the teen felt something slide into the palm of her hand.

And jumped like a frightened rabbit while shaking her hand vigorously. Whatever it was just _wouldn't leave!_ Why don't you f- Wait. . . It's wood? But there was no time to focus on the strange immobile object as she heard voices echoing from behind the massive door to the throne room.

Oh. . . Oh _shit_.


End file.
